Trying...sorta

So yesterday, after not being able to fit into my big girl pants, I freaked out and decided to try our “home gym”.

We live in a condo building, even though we rent and there’s a weird woman who is sort of the “lady of the manor” in the building. We believe she’s a widow and she goes by Mrs. Peterson, which scares me a little.

Well Mr. Peterson must have been some kind of workout guy, because down in our basement there’s 3 stationary bikes, an old bowflex kind of machine and some free weights. I always forget that stuff is down there, so last night I decided to give it a shot.

So I brought Remo with me, because I just don’t trust him loose in the apartment, and tied him to one of the machines. Then I sat on each of the 3 different bikes and found that none worked, not a one. I can ride them, but there’s no changing levels or anything, nothing to see how many calories you’ve burned, etc.

So Remo’s whimpering and crying and staring at me on the bike, I’m riding anyway, because I’m motivated still and I do it for about five seconds and boom. I’m done. There’s just no way I can sit down there, no music, no working machines, no company, no TV, no nothing, just me sitting on broken bike in complete silence except for the sound of a whimpering dog.

I was so mad, I came storming upstairs.

So…either…I need to buy a treadmill, which would be my first choice, or join a gym and go at lunch. Obviously I need more than my own discipline, I’m not one for running outside, especially when I get home, walk Remo and finally make it back upstairs, there’s no way I’m going out to a gym or going running, especially in the winter.

But I gotta do something, because I feel frumpish and lazy.

And lovely, because you know what? I’m not all about complaining.

I’m a beauty, just a little bit of a bigger one.